This is a peer-edited poem. The original draft is available in the "history" tab above. The "discussion" section contains the editing conversations between the author and peers. You can also use the "history" tab to see the poem as it evolved through many drafts.
"Dog Walking on a New York Morning"
Pad on pavement insults the instinct.
The tether? Oh well, such is the way of this life's path.
But to hear the sound of a step,
Is a betrayal of a promise made before we were born;
That may be too much to bear.
The thin shoots with sparse dressing
do not make up for what we know has been lost.
They do nothing for us; they are for your peace of mind.
Utility has never sparked our souls.
We require more. Something authentic - part of the undulation
That we see, feel, hear, and smell.
You would not know of it;
You who think that steel and glass are marvels
Worth your words.
If you could only know the symphony
Behind the dancing shadows of waving blades,
You would know the shame of iron and asphalt,
Of your unconscionable cages.
Steps and a pull. Pity, the silence between us remains.
Nails drag invisible ditches in gray concrete.
"Dog Walking on a New York Morning"
Pad on pavement insults the instinct.
The tether? Oh well, such is the way of this life's path.
But to hear the sound of a step,
Is a betrayal of a promise made before we were born;
That may be too much to bear.
The thin shoots with sparse dressing
do not make up for what we know has been lost.
They do nothing for us; they are for your peace of mind.
Utility has never sparked our souls.
We require more. Something authentic - part of the undulation
That we see, feel, hear, and smell.
You would not know of it;
You who think that steel and glass are marvels
Worth your words.
If you could only know the symphony
Behind the dancing shadows of waving blades,
You would know the shame of iron and asphalt,
Of your unconscionable cages.
Steps and a pull. Pity, the silence between us remains.
Nails drag invisible ditches in gray concrete.
Draft 2